


here below; to lay this body down

by dominical



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Various AUs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 19:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14527119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dominical/pseuds/dominical
Summary: “Sir —”“I suffer fromaviophobia,it means fear ofdyin’in something thatflies.”Damn,Jim thinks,that’s one screwed up dude.





	here below; to lay this body down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zhen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhen/gifts).



It is 1100 AD. A man by the name of James Kirk is an esteemed explorer and warrior, though if you didn’t know the man, and knew only Kirk, you could claim that his reputation was solely build on the bones of his dead father. This is not the case. He had worked very hard to be knighted by the King, and he had been. Sir Kirk was highly valued by the Throne for his wide array of known languages, his knowledge of the lands surrounding the country, and his basic skill of survival and swordsmanship.

He is the sort of man, however, who gets seriously injured just by existing. The man was too noble for his own good.

This is how he met his soulmate. The country knew of soulmates, of course: they were holy matches made by God in Heaven. Any child knew of them, any child knew the rhymes and the songs and the hymns. In order to work his way to a Knighthood, James had dismissed the notion of ever finding his soulmate. He didn’t partake in prayers, nor did he eat communion in an attempt to cleanse himself for his soulmate.

It didn’t really matter to him. What mattered was advancing. Was protecting the common man. Was serving the lords of the court. ( Of course, certain ladies of the court found such a dedicated knight rather… dashing. )

Despite his apathy, James Kirk met his soulmate when he was twenty-six and dying. A farmer found him, bleeding and broken. He had fought off an entire brigand of bandits, defending a group of travelers who… well, they had abandoned him to die. Luckily for James, the farmer was hosting a traveling country doctor. “A kind man with steady hands,” was what he had said, but James couldn’t be sure, what with the blood rushing in his ears.

It was a small eternity before they reached the farmer’s home.

“Bring him in, man, don’t let ‘em go ripe in tha’ sun!” The rough voice — heavy with a Scottish accent of the likes James hadn’t heard in months — brings James down from the stars, and he is face to face with narrowed baby blue eyes and short, curly brown hair. A firm jaw, a slightly crooked nose — he tsks over the blood on James’ face.

They make eye contact, and the world stops. The doctor gasps, low and quiet. The stars stop spinning so quickly. James’ heart stops beating so fast. It is as if the entire universe zeroes in on exactly two points: the doctor's eyes, and the hand on James' side, investigating for hidden injuries. James exhales.

“Well, I’ll be,” grunts the doctor. “Of course it’d be an idiot like you.”

\--

It is 1495 AD. The New World has been recently discovered by the British Empire— though “discovered”, James thinks, is a rather loosely applied term since people already lived there, but he’s in no position to argue — and James Tiberius Kirk, son of the famous George Kirk ( a legendary Navy captain ) has a flagship of his own. It’s more of an explorer vessel, really. The Enterprise. A beautiful ship with the best of the best as her crew.

James pats the hull of the ship with a fond hand.

Today, he meets the head of the various departments on the ship. They have scientists, cartographers, scholars, masters of languages, various practitioners of medicine, navigators, and, of course, settlers and soldiers and sailors. A large crew. James boards his ship and heads down to his quarters, where the department heads should already be, awaiting his arrival.

He nods at the Master, a certain Mr Sch’n ( a foreigner, as he understands, but one who is invaluable for his ability to maintain a cool head under extreme circumstances ) and enters the room. James mentally counts off the bodies crowded around the map spread out on his desk.

Mr Scott, an experienced Carpenter who was also able to assist Mr Sulu ( their Boatswain ). Ms Uhura, the Quartermaster who had a sharp tongue and a talent for languages. Mr Chekov was there, too, though James supposes as a helmsman he should have some idea of where they’re going. There are two Lieutenants as well — Ms Marcus and Mr Mitchell — to complete the crowded room. Mr Sch’n follows behind James, but there is one body James does not recognize. The man stands in a surgeon’s uniform, facing away from the map and staring out the window to the sea. He struck an impressive figure, like a statue of sorts. 

There’s something… familiar, somehow, about the man’s profile.

( An image, a flash, nothing more, of James lying in a featherbed, next to a man who looks disturbingly similar to the man before him: he strokes that dark brown hair, runs it through his fingers. The image is gone before he can place it. )

It’s an extremely disgruntled profile, really. James clears his throat, and everyone in the room turns to face him. They salute, and James nods.

Everyone but the man. The surgeon.

“Doctor…?” James says into the silence, and the surgeon’s head whips around, blue eyes wary and annoyed.

The second their eyes meet is the first time James Kirk’s heart stops. The world around him falls away, and there is only he and the doctor, staring endlessly into each other. His soul stripped bare before him.

“Doctor McCoy,” the man says, and James would pay anything to make him keep talking in that lilting accent, “Leonard McCoy.”

“Kirk,” James finds himself saying, the stars resuming their natural course. “Captain James Kirk.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” McCoy says, eyes darting to glare accusingly at the ocean. “The captain of a bloody ship. I’m never gettin’ my feet on solid land again.” A pause. “Forgive my language, Ms Uhura, Ms Marcus.”

\--

The year is unknown. Sometime after 1750, probably. They’ve been fighting, fighting, fighting, for so long for a purpose no soldier can remember. What land dispute they fight for, what insult they bleed and die for. James doesn’t know. He can’t remember. His father’s legacy as a proud soldier for the Duke’s army looms over him, constantly, a heavy weight on his shoulders.

He had stopped trying to get to know his brothers-in-arms a long time ago.

Of course, James had never had the need to worry about soulmates or anything like that; he was a soldier, as much as it didn’t suit him, and he’d die a soldier just trying to climb the social ladder. It wasn’t for him, of course, it was for his mother, waiting at home for her soldier boy to return. Her soulmate had died, long ago, saving his wife and the son she later bore him.

How he survived to make it to the surgeon’s tent, he’d never know. What soldier bothered to bring him back — he doesn’t know, either. The world’s a blur. He’s dying. Losing blood faster than his heart can make it. ( Or whatever it is that the heart does: he isn’t sure, really, but it's probably something like that, right? )

“Dammit, man, did ye drag him through the mud on purpose?”

A grumble, a mutter.

James’ eyes were prodded wide open and he faces the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen. They’re exhausted, the face they’re set in is blood stained, but James has never seen a more beautiful pair of eyes. The air is robbed from his lungs, and he gasps for breath.

“Glad t’see yer still alive, boy,” the surgeon gripes, vanishing for a second and leaving James exhausted. He reappears within seconds, sleeves pushed to the elbows. They stare at each other: lost, drowning, struggling to be found. There’s… a spark, there, a spark of recognition, or something close to it. It’s over as fast as it begins, and if the surgeon is more gentle with James, well. Nobody has to know.

\--

The year is 2254.

James Tiberius Kirk is on a shuttle bound for Starfleet Academy. He half doesn’t believe he’s really here, strapped in, about to fly, and chase what he knows, now, is his destiny. It took several beatings and a firm talk with Pike to convince him of that. It’s about time, really, that he sorted his life out.

“I told you, I don’t need a doctor, dammit, I _am_ a doctor!”

“You need to get back to your seat.”

“I had one, in the bathroom with no windows!”

“Sir —”

“I suffer from _aviophobia,_ it means fear of _dyin’_ in something that _flies.”_

Damn, Jim thinks, that’s one screwed up dude.

He’s one of the only other people not wearing a Starfleet cadet uniform, and Jim finds it immensely entertaining ( in a “thank you, universe, for that joke you’re playing on me right now” sort of way ) that he gets stuck with the probably-drunk doctor who looks like he’s just been through hell. He’s handsome enough, Jim supposes, if he weren’t red-eyed, and maybe he’s shaved a bit. Maybe a haircut — or just a comb.

Then, of course, as if that weren’t enough, the man leans over — “I may throw up on you.”

Jim raises his eyebrows. “I think these things are pretty safe.”

They make eye contact mere seconds later, and it stretches into an eternity. Jim’s stomach drops, his heart picks up, and he just — no, no, no — is this it? Is this what the soulmate connection feels like? He — it feels like he’s known this man before, like there’s something familiar about him that shouts home. That shouts safe, that shouts steady hands and a warm bed. Soft lips brushing against his forehead. It’s embarrassing how much Jim aches for it. He drowns in the feeling before he’s left with a whirling head and the doctor blinking back at him. James can’t breathe.

The man grunts.

“Don’t pander to me, kid —”

**Author's Note:**

> title is from _long time travelin'_ by anne  & elizabeth.
> 
> thanks for reading <3


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